Athletes Belting

When I was a young man I was extremely well built and into sport and physical training in a big way. After leaving school in the eastern suburbs of Sydney I took a flat in Clovelly Road that I shared with a few like minded male friends. It was common for my training mates to go for long hard beach runs and workout sessions around 5 am in the warmer months, and I would be waiting to join them as they reached my flat, or some of them would come back to my place for a bit of juice and breakfast before we went off to our jobs or uni. It may seem strange now but in the mid 60s no-one bothered to lock all their doors or windows and the crew I was sharing with kept a pretty open house at all times. Our natural leader or task master in these runs and sessions was Robert, who still works as a trainer for a football club and owns part of a Sydney gym today. A scary fit bugger even in his late 50s. This guy had a will of iron. I don't know how somebody then could be so driven, although his concentration would not be unusual in today's world of business. Always pushing us for another set of abdominal curls, another few miles around the cliff path, another few laps up and down the semi-enclosed beach at Clovelly.

Well, I fucked up big time once or twice, missing runs, and I had some excuses being an student in final degree year. One morning around 5 am they called in and I piked. I lifted my head of my pillow to see Rob nd a few others in the flat and said "I'm too fcuked, Not enough sleep." They ran off. About 8 am they were back. No one else was in the flat except me. Rob threw a darkie. I wasn't pulling my weight, I was a fucking has been, I could'd drop shit down a dunny, etc. "Mate you gotta fuckin push youself..." and so on. Then I heard more conversation, still half awake and someone said something about getting me, and I heard Rob say something about having no sense of discipline. More words. Suddenly I heard the words 'flog him' and I was suddenly very awake. Fucking hell, I thought. I sleep only in a singlet and I've been quite happy to show off my physique. I've got a pretty big dick, nice bum, broad shoulders with deep definition around the spine through lots of weight, good abs, the usual package for a fit guy in early 20s. And I'd enjoyed some isolated but intriguing episodes of corporal punishment in earlier life, so I wasn't averse to the fascinating prospects, but I was a bit frightened too. So I hopped out of bed, half fat, and quickly hauled up last night's underpants. I heard another guy say "Use his belt." They had found a reasonably thick leather belt in my wardrobe, and Rob had grabbed it and doubled it through his hands. "Bend over the end of the bed," he said.

They were all in the room. "Ah fuck, gimme a break," I said, knowing they wouldn't. So I reached over the end of the bed with my hands and bent over, putting my palms flat on the sheets then lowering my arms so they were flat to the elbows, and poked my bum up to best advantage. "You won't need these" I heard Rob say as he reached for the waistband of my briefs and hauled them down. This must have taken some of the guys by surprise, as one said "Ooh,he's getting it on the bare." Then Rob grabbed my singlet and hauled it up to my shoulders saying "Don't want this to get in the way." He sort of flexed the belt from the sound I heard and I glimpsed it lying loose in his hands then as I realised he had drawn it back I heard the sound of it coming down, and the most awful fucking stinging pain as it wrapped itself from middle crack to the side of my left arse cheek. Then as the stinging got worse he changed stance and brought it back the other way, getting the other half of my arse. The pain sort of ruined the sensation of six pairs of eyes looking up my crack at the traces of last night's dinner, but my semi fat was coming back. Rob was an expert I realised. After four loud hard licks around the middle or equator of my big bare arse he began to work his way up and down either side, sometimes almost pulling my cheeks wider open by drawing back with the strap as it bit in. I probably got about 16 hard cracks of the beltand next I knew he'd moved alongside me and laid four or five across my shoulders. "Stand up, hands behind head," he barked. My tool was pointed up my lower abs and seemed as thick and angry as the swelling in my cheeks. He paid a few more across my upper back then ordered me to bend over again. I was in too much pain to talk but screamed out when I felt the first of a few strokes not on my bum but across the top of my legs. Fucking murder. The he just said "OK, lets have a beer and be off." The others looked a bit shaken by this. I dragged myself, nude, sore, red and erect into the kitchen, tried to wrap a towel around myself and loudly said "Aaah" because that hurt to much, so just finished my beer while everyone stood around. "Well see you tomorrow mate," Rob said.

And they did. On time. I ran a sore few miles, enjoyed the cold surf, and realised I was a real hero to the other guys. There were similar incidents involving some of them at odd times over the next year before our circle broke up, but Rob has told me down the years what goes on in some footy clubs, and I'm pleased to regard this as reliable evidence that some of the built young dudes who play footy get very red arses sometimes.